


An Untenable Situation

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Series: Taking What Comes [12]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 02:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: Jack is rapidly running out of patience with people who think they can just put their hands on Rhys.





	An Untenable Situation

**Author's Note:**

> This one was definitely [The Space Coyote's](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) idea.

Rhys can handle himself in a fight. He’s good with a gun, although he prefers a knife, and while he’s somewhat at a disadvantage in hand-to-hand he’s learned to compensate. He spent his childhood, such as it was, on the streets; he rarely feels unsafe there, even alone - and never when he’s with Jack. He’s spent his life in this city, and he can handle whatever its streets throw at him, from someone seeking favor with Handsome Jack to an ambush in a back alley.

The streets are one thing. High society is a different animal altogether.

Rhys shifts on his feet as yet another handshake lingers uncomfortably long. He’s attended society events with Jack for years, so it’s not the ballroom or the perfectly tailored suit that’s making his skin itch. He’s used to standing comfortably in Jack’s shadow, listening and learning as business is conducted around him; he’s much less practiced at being the center of attention from adventurous socialites. When a young woman not much older than Rhys asks about the opera debut they attended last week, Rhys assumes she’s talking to Jack; it’s only when he glances at Jack to hear the answer and finds Jack looking back at him with a faint crease between his eyes that Rhys realizes she’d been talking to  _ him _ . Rhys stumbles through an answer - very dramatic, but that’s the point, isn’t it? - slightly unnerved by the way she appears to hang on his every word.

At the same time that he’s somehow become a magnet for daring civilians, he seems to have become all but invisible to members of the other syndicates. Business is still business, despite the simmering tension stretched across the city, but while Jack gets a cordial handshake and a clap on the shoulder, Rhys gets the barest of nods. The Maliwan representative even goes so far as to position herself so that Jack stands between her and Rhys.

For some reason this makes Jack smile.

Jack drapes an arm around Rhys’ shoulders and pulls him close, scenting along his temple. Rhys blushes with pride to be marked so publicly, even as the Maliwan woman stutters in the middle of her sentence. Jack slides his hand down Rhys’ spine, resting it at the small of his back for a moment, then turns him gently toward the buffet table on the other side of the room.

“Go get me another one of those cream puff things, would you? This is going to take a minute.” Rhys murmurs an affirmative, nodding to Maliwan envoy before stepping away. He’s noticed that some of the other bosses don’t like talking business with him around, and he’s not sure if it’s his age or his endotype or something else entirely. Jack doesn’t seem to have any such reservations, and most of the time he’ll stare down anyone who objects to Rhys’ presence, but sometimes he’ll ask Rhys to leave preemptively.

Rhys isn’t bothered either way. He likes being present for talks and negotiations, of course; it’s always interesting to learn more about what Jack does, about how the city runs. Sometimes Jack will even ask Rhys’ opinion later, and Rhys always warms from the inside when Jack listens thoughtfully, nodding. Rhys like being useful. If Jack asks him to leave, however, it usually just means that Jack doesn’t need to make an example out of anyone today. Jack will fill Rhys in later on what he missed, if it’s important.

He also sees Vladof talking with Torgue over by the dessert table. Social invisibility has its advantages, sometimes; this might be one of them. He’s edging along the table, pretending to study the carefully arranged pastries and trying to make Torgue’s indiscriminate boom resolve into words he can recognize, when he bumps into something - some _ one _ \- solid on his left.

Rhys’ arm comes up automatically to push the stranger away, but the polite apology he’s reaching for dies on his lips as a heavy hand clamps down on his shoulder. He blinks at it, then at the man pressing into his space.

“Vasquez. Hugo Vasquez. You’re charmed, I’m sure.” Vasquez smiles in a way that makes Rhys long for a bathtub. “I don’t believe we’ve met…?”

He trails off expectantly, and Rhys is loathe to engage with this man he doesn’t know - although the name does ring a faint bell, now that he thinks about it. He’s pretty sure  _ Hugo Vasquez _ is the newly elected city councilman, whose district resides in former Dahl territory. Rhys wonder if Jack has paid Vasquez a visit yet, or if this is Vasquez’ way of “reaching out to the community.”

Either way he doesn’t want to reflect poorly on Jack, so he answers, “Rhys. Nice to meet you,” and tries to step away.

Vasquez doesn’t let him.

“Rhys.  _ Rhys _ ,” Vasquez repeats it to himself a few times, as if trying it out. “Has a nice ring to it. So,  _ Rhys _ , tell me - what’s a nice omega like you doing all alone in a place like this?”

Rhys stares back into the teeth of Vasquez’ smile, certain he couldn’t have heard that right.

“That’s a nice tat you’ve got,” Vasquez continues, eyes flicking to the side of Rhys’ neck, “but I don’t see anyone around to look after you. Any alpha who would leave a prize like you unattended doesn’t  _ deserve _ you, don’t you think?” Vasquez leans in and it takes Rhys entirely too long to realize that Vasquez is trying to  _ mark him _ , just the way Jack had, and his entire body recoils, jerking back. Vasquez’ hand is still on his shoulder and Rhys is trying to decide whether to break the wrist or the fingers when a familiar hand clamps down on Vasquez’ forearm and the choice is taken away from him.

Jack’s knuckles are white, fingers digging into Vasquez’ wrist, and Vasquez hisses as Jack yanks his arm away from Rhys. Jack’s faze is frozen in a silent snarl, teeth bared and sharp. Vasquez’ face goes red and then white as Jack bends his arm back at what looks like a painful angle, and although Rhys halfway expects to hear the  _ pop _ of a shoulder dislocating, Jack stops when Vasquez lets out a pained whimper.

“He’s spoken for,” Jack says into the ringing silence spreading out from their little circle. Even Torgue has stopped his booming monologue and has looked round to see what the fuss is. “ _ Councilman. _ ” The honorific is spoken with dripping disdain; Rhys has heard people describe things found on the bottom of their shoe with more affection.

“I, uh - okay,  _ okay! _ ” Vasquez says as Jack’s fingers tighten. “Spoken for, got it.”

“See that you remember it,” Jack says as he drops the man’s arm. Vasquez winces and massages his forearm with his other hand.

“Jesus, you’ve got a grip,” he says, breathing heavily. Rhys blinks, because while he had figured Vasquez for ignorant he hadn’t pegged him for suicidal. “He’s not bonded; can’t expect a man not to try his luck, eh?” 

If Rhys hadn’t been looking, he probably wouldn’t have caught the way Jack’s face tightens almost imperceptibly. Vasquez tries an alpha-to-alpha smile that withers in the face of Jack’s impassive glare. Jack stands very still in the middle of their tableau, body canted toward Vasquez, and Rhys can’t tell what he’s thinking at all.

Then Jack straightens, and although his shoulders relax Rhys can still see the tension in his spine.

“Rhysie.” Rhys feels the tightness in his own shoulders dissipate as Jack turns and lays a hand heavily on his neck. “C’mere, babe.” Jack turns him, guiding him through the crowd that parts swiftly around them. As they leave the ballroom Rhys expects to be led outside to the waiting car, Jack’s patience for the evening at an end, but they don’t make it that far; instead, Jack pulls him through an unmarked door in the hall. The room is dimly lit, but Rhys supposes coats don’t need a lot of light as Jack pulls him past row after row of expensive fur and wool.

“Can’t blame a man for  _ trying _ ,” Jack mutters to himself as he pulls Rhys around and pushes him flat against the far wall. Jack pulls Rhys’ shirt free from his waistband and slides his hands underneath, crowding Rhys against the wall. “Try  _ this _ , asshole.”

Jack skates his teeth up Rhys’ jawline and Rhys shivers, dropping his head back as his arm comes up to clutch at Jack’s shirt. Jack’s breath is hot and  _ angry _ against his skin, and Rhys whimpers as Jack’s fingers dig into the flesh of his back, pulling him close as Jack scents heavily up and down Rhys’ neck. He nuzzles into Rhys’ collar, nosing it open as far as he can, and Rhys bucks up into him when Jack’s lips graze the outer edges of his bonding site. He wants Jack’s mouth there more than anything, wants Jack’s  _ teeth _ , and every time Jack presses a gentle kiss there and pulls away Rhys  _ shakes _ , breathless with need and thwarted anticipation.

He doesn’t really think Jack’s going to bond him a coat closet, but when Jack drags his lips down the side of Rhys’ neck he can’t help the visceral twist of hope.

Jack appears to have something else in mind, though; he steps back, one hand going to his belt buckle and the other a forceful weight on Rhys’ shoulder. Rhys sinks happily down to his knees when he figures out what Jack wants, licking his lips as Jack draws his cock out.

“Can’t fuck you properly here,” Jack mutters as he strokes himself a few times. “Too messy. Open up, kiddo,” and Rhys does, bracing his hand on Jack’s thigh and letting Jack feed his cock into Rhys’ open mouth.

Rhys loves this - he loves having Jack in any way that he can, but he especially loves  _ this _ , where he can concentrate on making  _ Jack _ feel good instead of the other way around. There’s nothing quite like being knotted in the middle of a heat, of course, but watching Jack come apart until he’s just breathy curses and shaking thighs and knowing that it’s all because of  _ Rhys _ is a close second. And nothing,  _ nothing _ beats the praise that falls indiscriminately from Jack’s lips when Rhys has his mouth on him, warming Rhys from the inside out.

“Don’t think I wasn’t thinking about it, though - oh god _ damn _ , sweetheart, that’s good,” Jack groans as Rhys hollows out his cheeks. Rhys wants him to keep talking, though, and he rolls his eyes up to try to catch Jack’s gaze, to encourage him to keep going without breaking the rhythm Rhys is building. 

“Yeah, you want to hear about that, babe?” Jack grins even as his hips start rocking, nudging himself toward the back of Rhys’ throat. “You want to hear how I wanted to shove you down on one of those  _ stupid _ fucking banquet tables and fuck you right there in front of everyone?”

That sends a jolt up Rhys’ spine and he moans around Jack’s cock, drawing an answering curse from Jack as his hips stutter. Jack chuckles, stroking a thumb over Rhys’ lips, wet and stretched where Jack’s dick is sliding between them. “I would have made you  _ scream _ for it, sweetheart, scream until they could hear you on the street and  _ everyone  _ knew who you belonged to.”

Maybe it’s a good thing Rhys’ mouth is occupied because all that’s filling his head is  _ please _ and  _ I want you to _ , and if he had the use of his voice he might beg Jack to do it. He’s not supposed to want that kind of thing, he knows that; but he  _ does _ , he craves for Jack to mark him, trembles at the thought of being claimed so publicly. His eyelids flutter and he closes them completely, relaxing his throat and imagining it as Jack fucks his mouth. Jack  _ would  _ make him scream, he seems to like doing it, and the thought of  _ those _ sounds being ripped from him in front of everyone makes Rhys shift his knees wider even as his cheeks burn. Jack grunts above him as his knot starts to swell, and Rhys opens his eyes as Jack pulls his cock away.

“Here, just -” Jack takes his dick in hand and strokes it slowly. “Open your shirt for me, sweetheart, come on.” Rhys blinks, but he does as he’s told, unbuttoning his shirt as Jack breathes heavily above him. When he gets the last button the shirt falls open, exposing his chest.

“That’s it, just - just hold still.” Jack’s brows draw down in concentration and Rhys watches in fascination. He doesn’t often get to see Jack’s face like this, focused on chasing his own pleasure, and it’s distracting enough that he jumps when Jack’s mouth falls open and the first wet warmth lands on Rhys’ skin. Jack groans, hand tightening down around his red and swollen knot as his cock jerks, striping Rhys’ chest with come. A little bit splatters on his chin and Rhys flinches, but he stays still until Jack’s done, emptying himself on Rhys’ skin. Jack grunts as his cock twitches one last time, then drops to his knees in front of Rhys, still breathing heavily.

Rhys doesn’t know what Jack wants so he stays still as Jack reaches out, sliding a hand through his own release. Jack’s face is set in concentration as he methodically rubs his own come into Rhys’ skin, ignoring Rhys’ little gasp when Jack’s fingers drag over his nipple. When Rhys’ entire chest feels damp and faintly sticky, Jack settles back on his heels, pulling his handkerchief out and wiping off his hand.

“There,” he says, reaching forward to wipe the last few drops off of Rhys’ chin, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Let’s see them ignore  _ that _ .”

Rhys’ breath catches. He had thought they were heading home, but -

But that doesn’t seem to be what Jack has in mind as he rebuttons Rhys’ shirt, a toothy grin spreading across his face. He shifts back and stands to readjust his own clothing, his knot having gone down enough for his dick to be tucked away, and Rhys takes that as his cue to do the same, stuffing his shirt back into his trousers. His pants are feeling a little tight, and he shifts, trying to get more comfortable before they head back out to face the public. Jack glances at him, then down at his crotch, and seems to realize what the problem is.

“Feeling neglected, sweetheart?” Jack smiles crookedly. He steps in close and rests a hand on the back of Rhys’ neck, pressing a kiss to Rhys’ temple. “I’ll make it up to you when we get home - but I need you to hang on a little longer for me, okay?”

Rhys inhales a shaky breath and nods. Anyone who gets close will be able to smell  _ everything _ \- both Jack’s come drying on his skin and what that does to Rhys - and it’s making Rhys a little light headed to think of anyone they pass by being able to smell their scents entwined so intimately. As for making it up later - Jack’s never let him down before, and his pulse picks up in anticipation.

“Ready to face the crowd?” Rhys nods and Jack smiles crookedly. “Yeah, you are. Come on, kiddo, let’s blow their freaking  _ minds _ .”

The  _ boom _ when Jack shoves the ballroom doors open echoes throughout the room, and the drone of conversation halts for a moment as every eye turns toward them. Rhys floats along in Jack’s wake, smiling internally at the way the crowd parts around them. He can practically feel the eyes crawling over his skin; one matron is bold enough to lean forward as he passes, trying to discern what’s different about him, and he can tell by the shocked gasp the exact second she figures it out.

As the scandalized buzz radiates out around them, Rhys feels acutely aware for a moment of the stickiness drying underneath his shirt. Then Jack catches his eye and grins, and Rhys grins back, and lets Jack lead the way.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
